


one of us needs to make a sacrifice

by Lexiliscious



Series: how the Avengers accidentally become a pack [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky in the Cap stealth suit, Crying, Gen, Hurt!Steve, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, Steve being stubborn, and non-permanent, brief major character death, hurt!Clint, hurt!bucky, like blink and you'll miss it brief, not using the Archive Warning because it's non-graphic and Tony fixes it, reckless!Bucky, werewolf!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:33:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexiliscious/pseuds/Lexiliscious
Summary: Steve gets hurt on a mission, and Bucky's tired of being on the bench. So he dresses up in one of Steve's stealth suits and follows them to a mission.Then he gets shot.It's really all down-hill from there. Well. At least he saved Clint.





	1. sacrifice

           The last few months were pretty good, all things considered: Bucky was sleeping more regularly, he got to hang out with Clint when Steve was gone; he got to meet Clint’s dog Lucky. Steve had started taking him down to Central Park on full moons, which he appreciated. It felt better to be outside, in the trees, even if he could still hear the sounds of the city around them. He and Steve had kept a few crimes from happening there, too.

           Then Steve gets shot on a mission. It’s just one shot, straight through his shoulder, but Bucky was watching, and Steve went down _hard_. He’s furious on the communicators, demanding someone go check on him, mentally berating himself for not seeing the shooter in the first place. Bucky hasn’t been approved for active duty, not by his therapist, Fury, or Steve, but he hadn’t felt helpless until then.

           “Cap’s okay,” Barton reports, checking his pulse and shaking him awake. “Just hit his head in the fall. He’s awake now.”

           “Steve?” Bucky asks, clutching the little ear piece probably far too tightly.

           “Yeah, Buck, I’m good,” Steve chimes after a moment, groaning low.

           “Jesus Christ,” Bucky sighs, relieved. “You’re going to give me a heart condition. Finish up and get your asses back here.”

           When they get back, Steve’s already been seen by a medic. The bullet wound has gauze on it, going all the way around his shoulder, and he’s got three stitches on his forehead. Bucky fawns over him; he can’t help it. Steve has this awful tendency to overwork himself and then keep going, and he doesn’t like to rest even on doctor’s orders. Steve, though, doesn’t like being fawned over. He hates it, really. He barely tolerated it when he was a little guy, and really only when Bucky was close to a full moon, because it made his instincts settle to know Steve was taken care of.

           Now, though? Steve’s snappish. “It’s just a flesh wound, Buck, leave it alone,” He hisses when Bucky tells him he needs to change the bandages again. “It’s on my shoulder, my legs are _fine_.” He growls when Bucky tells him he should sit out his morning run with Sam the next day. “I swear to God, I’ll sleep on the common floor if you don’t stop hovering.” He threatens. To be fair, Bucky is hovering. A lot. Constantly. He can’t help it though; Steve’s hurt, and he _hates_ it when Steve’s hurt. But Steve’s also being a stubborn little shit, and it’s starting to irritate Bucky, too.

           Which is why they get into a huge fight when they get a new mission, three days after Steve got shot. The wound is healing nicely, but it’s not done healing yet, and he could still rip it open and make it worse, and he only _just_ got the stitches taken out of his forehead. These are the things Bucky brings up when Steve tries to fight him on him staying out of this one. “I’m the leader, I can’t just choose which fights I wanna go to! I’m not even hurt anymore,” Steve defends. “I’m _fine_! They’re just flesh wounds!”

           “At least let me go with you and watch your back then, Mr. I-Can’t-Get-Hurt,” Bucky exclaims, throwing his arms wide. “I’m not approved for it, but I was a fucking assassin for seventy years, it’s not like I can’t hold my own out there!”

           “Absolutely not,” Steve hisses back. “Your therapist doesn’t think it would be good for you and neither do I. No. No way.”

           Bucky throws his arms up in exasperation. “The fuck do you want me to do? Sit here and worry about you, watch you get shot on the fucking flat screen and not be able to do anything about it?”

           “Yes!”

           “Fuck that! Would you be able to do it if it was me?” Bucky challenges, pointing an accusing finger at him. Steve makes a frustrated noise.

           “I can’t have this conversation right now Bucky, I’ve got to go.” And then he spins around and leaves the room.

           Bucky’s so pissed he can hardly think straight, which is probably why he goes to Steve’s closet and digs out one of his stealth suits, puts it on, and sneaks out of the tower after swearing Jarvis to secrecy. The suit doesn’t quite fit him; Steve’s a little taller, a little bit larger, but it fits well enough that he’ll at least be able to draw some fire from Steve if the HYDRA goons are stupid enough to mistake him for the real Captain America.

           As it turns out, they are. Or they know he’s the Winter Soldier, and they want him back. Either way, when Bucky comes out of the shadows, they start firing at him. He’s pretty good at dodging bullets or blocking them with his metal arm, so he doesn’t worry about it much, taking down agent after agent, all the while keeping himself from the main team, so Steve doesn’t catch sight of him and decide to do something stupid and heroic.

           Which is how _Bucky_ ends up doing something stupid and heroic. Clint’s backed himself into a corner, and he clearly needs help, but everyone else is engaged on the other side of the building, and the Hydra agents are closing in fast, so he makes the split-second decision to shove Clint out of the way and take the fire meant for him. Clint’s human, a firing squad like that would’ve killed him, but Bucky’s probably going to be fine.

           At least, he thought so, but then a bullet rips through his chest and he barely has time to gasp before he’s collapsing back on the ground, eyes flashing golden behind squeezed-shut lids as he grinds his fangs together through the pain. He can hardly breathe, and he’s distantly aware that he got hit in a few other places too, but he can’t even feel them in comparison to the white-hot pain searing through his entire chest.

           He blacks out for some time. He doesn’t know how long, just that when he comes to, Tony is above him with electricity crackling between his fingertips and Steve’s beside him, holding his hand and crying. “Tony,” He coughs, chest still aching and something smells burnt now, too. Tony and Steve’s heads snap to him when he speaks. “Why the _fuck_ ,” He begins, taking a deep breath, “Aren’t Steve’s suits made of _Kevlar_?”

           Tony smiles a little, but looks unsettled. “Because I’m not the one who gets to design them,” He answers, making Bucky groan and shut his eyes again.

           “Is Clint okay?” He asks after several minutes. “Did I get to him in time?”

           “Yeah man,” Clint chirps, popping up at his right, holding his shoulder. Bucky can see blood oozing out between his fingers and down his hand. “You got me outta the way. Maybe next time don’t get shot full of holes doing it, huh?”

           Bucky laughs weakly. “Is it over yet? Can we go home now?”

           “Yeah, Buck, we can go home now,” Steve answers, watery. “But _never_ do that to me again.” Bucky smiles a little again. His chest still feels like it’s on fire.

           “Now you know how I feel.”

* * *

 

           Walking turns out to be difficult, but he makes it back to their floor with Steve’s help. Two bullets had to be pulled out of him, then he had to be stitched up, but Steve’s fine, and Clint’s okay, so Bucky chalks it up as a win and collapses face-first on their bed.

           Steve yells at him, but only for a little while, and only until Bucky makes a sad, hurt noise from the bed—then Steve’s all affection and apologies. “Christ, Buck, you were dead for a second,” Steve whispers into his neck. “Your heart stopped. Tony had to electrocute you. I thought you were _gone_.”

           “Takes more’n a couple bullets to get rid of me, Stevie.” He comforts quietly, hugging him as tight as the injuries will allow. “Tony’s gonna make you some new suits, right? I’m definitely not sitting out anymore missions knowing you’re wearing Americanized _spandex_.”

           Steve laughs wetly. “Yeah, you asshole, he’s gonna make me some new suits.”

           “Uh, guys?” Clint asks from the door. Both of them startle; neither of them heard him come in. “Sorry to interrupt, but, is Bucky a werewolf?”

           “What.” They say simultaneously. Bucky’s broken out in a cold sweat; his heart feels like it might fail again. Clint puts his hands up in defense.

           “Woah, okay. I was just asking because I think he scratched me when he pushed me outta the way, and I’m just wondering if I’m gonna get all fangy in a couple of days.”

           “What,” Bucky demands, jumping out of bed a little too quickly and immediately doubling over against the dresser in pain with a groan. Steve curses him and tells him he’s going to reopen his wounds; Bucky shushes him. “Lemme see, c’mere.” Bucky grunts, beckoning Clint over. Clint pulls his shirt sleeve up, displaying four long slashes across his bicep, all stitched up. The largest one has eleven stitches. “Shit. Are they deep?”

           “Yeah, pretty deep. Otherwise I would’ve just glued ‘em.”

           “Shit.” Bucky sits back down on the edge of the bed. “Was it this hand?” He asks, waggling his human fingers at him. “Or the metal one?”

           “Your right. I’m pretty sure I’d only have one arm right now too if you’d got me with the other one.” Clint laughs, but it’s probably true. Bucky had been running _fast_ ; he hadn’t even realized his claws were out.

           “I— _fuck_ ,” He groans, burying his head in his hands. Steve scoots to sit next to him, one arm thrown around him and rubbing his flesh shoulder comfortingly. “Yeah, you might be. I don’t know. If I bit you that deep, definitely, but scratches are a little different. So maybe, but maybe not.”

           “Wow.” Clint says, staring at his arm. “Cool. Is this why you’re always sniffing Steve?”

           “I don’t sniff him!” Bucky says, at the same time as Steve says, “Yes.”

           Bucky glares at him through his fingers, and Steve smiles sheepishly. Clint’s grinning at them. “He smells good, shut your mouth, Barton.” Bucky huffs. “ _If_ you turn, I’ll explain it. It’s complicated werewolf bullshit that won’t make any sense to you if you’re not experiencing it. I’ve been like this since I was nine, so Steve’s used to it.”

           “Okay. When will we know?” Clint asks, poking gently at the scratch.

           “Stop that, you’re going to irritate it. Hold on,” He taps Steve on the leg and gestures to the bedside table until he retrieves Bucky’s calendar and hands it to him. Bucky flips it open and glances over it for a moment. “Next week on the 14th. That’s the next full moon. If you’re gonna change, it’ll be then. Otherwise you’ll just have some scars.”

           “I won’t die or anything?”

           Bucky blanches at him. “No? Why the fuck would you die?”

           “I don’t know! That happens in the movies, y’know, you get turned or you like, die an awful bloody death.”

           “You are _not_ going to die.” He groans. “If you do turn, it’ll hurt like a bitch for like, the first year, but after that you’ll be fine.”

           “Well, alright then. I guess I’m gonna,” He gestures up toward the ceiling and his floor. “Sleep or something and try not to freak out for the next few days.”

           “Okay,” Bucky answers weakly, head back in his hands again. He listens to Clint leave and then shoves at Steve until he can put his head in his lap and hide his face against his stomach. Steve cards his fingers gently through his hair.

           “S’gonna be okay, Buck. I’m sure Clint’s not mad.” He offers quietly. Bucky sighs.

           “I know he’s not, but I’m mad at myself. I’ve never turned anyone on accident. Clint didn’t even know werewolves were a thing. I might’ve changed his whole life. _And_ I got shot.” He whines miserably. “My heart hurts.”

           “You mean your head?” Steve asks, sounding a little amused.

           “No, my heart. My actual heart. I think the bullet nicked it.” He rubs at his chest around the bullet hole and Steve bats his hand away.

           “Don’t mess with it, let yourself heal. You better not need surgery,” He says menacingly, the effect ruined by his gentle hand in Bucky’s hair. “I will be so pissed if I have to sit through you having heart surgery. You’re not allowed to get me back for that. It was one time.”

           “You were in surgery for _thirteen hours_ , asshole,” Bucky grumbles. “If I want to get you back for that I think I’m justified. You know how many priests I almost punched that whole time? Fuckin’ vultures were _circling_ the OR. It was awful.” Steve chuckles fondly at Bucky’s sigh, and they’re quiet for a few minutes. “You still have the scar tissue?” He asks.

           “Nah,” Steve answers with a shrug. “Don’t have any of that anymore. Serum fixed everything. Healthy lungs, straight spine, big heart with no murmurs. Like I was born healthy as an ox. You wanna compare my old and new medical records? It sure is somethin’.”

           Bucky smiles a little, having drifted off slightly at the sound of Steve’s voice. He hums quietly. “Yeah, you sure are somethin’,” He agrees softly. Steve scoffs and Bucky can feel him burning through his clothes. “You smell so sweet when you get embarrassed, Stevie.” He praises, full-on grinning now.

           “Jesus, shut up,” Stevie huffs. “I forgot how sappy you get when you’re sick.”

           “M’not sick.”

           “Or hurt, or sleepy. Go to sleep, Buck. You need to heal and stop teasin’ me.”

           “Yeah, yeah.” Bucky murmurs, already drifting. Steve tugs at him until they’re in a more comfortable position up against the headboard, then settles in with a book resting on Bucky’s shoulders while he reads it.


	2. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Werewolf!Clint shenanigans, Tony playing dress up, and the team having a movie day.

           Clint makes a great werewolf. He’s already tactile and affectionate, and he’s got a calm, happy disposition which works out well to balance the wild instincts becoming a werewolf brings. He shifts for the first time in Bucky and Steve’s living room, all of the furniture pushed as far away as possible and all breakables put away. Bucky shifts first, quick and efficient after decades of practice, then plants himself on the floor in front of Steve, both to watch and make sure Clint doesn’t go crazy and attack him and to get Steve to scratch between his ears. Clint’s shift is long and painful, and Bucky paces back and forth between him and Steve, alternating between trying to comfort the younger wolf and protect Steve. Clint just lays on the floor in an exhausted heap once he’s done shifting, panting and making sad little whining noises the whole time. Bucky moves over to nuzzle at him for the half hour it takes him to get his bearings and actually sit up, then moves over to stand in front of Steve. Steve huffs, pushing Bucky’s flesh-and-blood arm up so he can peer around him underneath it.

           “Lemme see him, Buck, jeez,” He complains. Bucky grumbles at him but keeps his eyes on Clint. He’s smaller than Bucky; a lot smaller. At least two feet smaller, in fact. He’s got a ruddy blond colored coat interspersed with black and lighter tan, patterned like a real wolf would be. His eyes, like Bucky’s, are gold.

           He peers around curiously, scratching gently at the back of his head and then looking at his hand like he’s never seen it before. He spends several minutes after that looking at his new lupine features, touching different parts of himself like they aren’t real. Then he looks up at Bucky and barks, then snaps his jaw shut, eyes wide, hands coming up to cover his maw. Bucky chuffs fondly; of course Clint would try to talk without realizing his vocal chords weren’t made for it anymore. Clint tilts his head to the side to look around Bucky at Steve, and Bucky’s body goes rigid; alert. Clint just cautiously waves at him, though, then goes back to trying to navigate his new body.

           Bucky hums contentedly at this reaction, then flops himself into Steve’s lap while Clint explores the apartment, sniffing at everything curiously. Bucky’s starting to doze a little bit when Clint finally makes his way over to the couch and immediately sticks his face into the hair behind Steve’s ear and starts sniffing. Bucky raises his head and frowns at him, then pushes his face away and rubs the same spot with his hand.

           “Bucky, are you about to get weird about Clint touching me now?” Steve asks, exasperated but letting Clint and Bucky go back and forth; Clint touches him, Bucky goes in and touches the same place after he’s pushed him away. “You know I’m just going to end up smelling like you anyway when we go to sleep tonight.”

           Bucky gives him an unimpressed look then huffs at Clint when he doesn’t stop touching him. Eventually he gets up and pushes him away to sit on the floor with him, pulling him into a hug. Steve watches in amusement as Clint flails for a second, arms akimbo, then accepts the hug when Bucky starts scratching through the fur behind his ears and down his neck with his claws. Clint starts rubbing his face against the fur of Bucky’s neck after a few moments, and then they’re both making small, content werewolf noises.

           Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to understand werewolves,” He bemoans, making Bucky throw him a look over his shoulder. “I’m gonna get your food out so I can go to bed without worrying about one of you knocking the fridge over on the other.” He says then, standing up and disappearing into the kitchen. Clint’s sitting straight up now, seemingly having forgotten the moment they were having at the mention of food. Steve comes back with two plates piled high with meat, most of it beef, but with some wild game Bucky had insisted on getting thrown in. He sits them down on the floor and Bucky reaches over to pluck a steak off the top, chomping down on it easily.

           Clint looks horrified. He makes a noise, gestures to Bucky, them the steak in his hand, then the plates, and then makes a noise again. Bucky stares at him, then takes another bite. “You’re a werewolf now, Clint, you can’t tell me you actually care that the food is raw.” Steve says, eyebrow raised. Bucky crunches through the bone in the middle of his T-bone steak like a kid eating a hard candy. Clint’s jaw drops.

           Bucky rolls his eyes and takes a leg of lamb from Clint’s plate and shoves it in his mouth. His mouth snaps shut automatically, then he looks like he’s about to drop it, then he pauses and chews thoughtfully. Bucky keeps eating, watching quietly as Clint seems to have an epiphany, then looks guilty for it, then overcomes the guilt and eats. Steve snorts and goes to shower, leaving them to it. When he comes back, the plates are clean and Clint is sprawled across Bucky on the ground.

           “M'goin’ to bed, Buck. Don’t wreck anything while I sleep, okay?” Bucky puts up a thumb in response, wrestling Clint until he’s pinned under him and then rolling away when he tries to retaliate.

           Steve wakes up somewhere around five in the morning surrounded by a suffocating heat. Blinking blearily, he finds the source of it; Bucky is sprawled across him on one side and Clint’s sprawled across him on the other, his face shoved into Bucky’s fur with his head across Steve’s chest. Steve groans. “Werewolves,” He whispers, looking at the ceiling for help, like maybe Jarvis will have the solution to his problems. He’s met with silence. “Did they break anything while I was asleep, Jarvis?” He asks.

           “Just a table, sir. I believe they were playing. Mr. Barton tripped over his tail.”

           Steve pauses. “Please tell me it’s recorded.”

           “Of course sir.”

           “Thank god. Can you turn the air down a few degrees for me? I’m on fire under these two.”

           “Certainly sir.”

           Steve smiles. “Thanks, Jarvis. Goodnight.”

           “Goodnight, Captain."

* * *

           

           Steve wakes up to Bucky and Clint fighting over top of him. “C’mon, Bucky, he smells good,” Clint whines. Steve groans and pulls the blanket over his head and rolls onto his side so he can shove his face into his pillow and wonder how this became his life. He didn’t sign up to be werewolf-nip.

           “Yeah, I know, but you can’t just scent him just because he smells good.”

           “I don’t even know what that _means_.” Clint replies, sounding a little frustrated and mostly confused.

           “Like—when you touch someone, you leave a little bit of your scent on them, so they smell a little bit like you. That’s scenting. And you’re all,” The bed dips as Bucky gestures, and Steve grunts in annoyance. “Snuggled up.” Bucky finishes distastefully.

           “So what, you’re the only one that can cuddle Steve?”

           “Yes.” Bucky answers immediately.

           “That’s not fair!” Clint pouts. “I’m just a sad, new werewolf who wants some affection, you did this to me.” He huffs. Bucky groans.

           “I hate you and that’s not fair.”

           “Buck, just let him, it’s fine.” Steve mutters in irritation. “S’not like we didn’t do it with the Commandos.”

           There’s a pause, and then Bucky says, “…did we? I don’t remember that.” Steve frowns and sits up, awake now. Thankfully Bucky and Clint are both wearing pajamas now; the clock on the nightstand reads that it’s just after 10am.

           “You don’t remember?” Steve asks in concern, moving one hand into Bucky’s hair to scratch lightly at his scalp. Bucky leans into the touch, face contemplative.

           “No,” He answers after a minute. “But I don’t think it’s because of Hydra. Just because it was so long ago. Like… The memories are there, but they’re hard to sort through because everything crisscrosses in my head and the timelines aren’t all right.”

           “That sounds like a bitch,” Clint offers from Steve’s other side sympathetically. “I know what it’s like to have your brain fried. Sometimes I still feel like I lose pieces of time.”

           “Yeah,” Bucky agrees quietly, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I don’t remember, Steve.”

           “Hey,” Steve says softly. “It’s okay, you know it is. I remember enough for the both of us, I’ll tell you about it.”

           “Yeah?” Bucky asks with a cautious smile. Steve nods, and the smile gets a little more confident. “Okay.”

           “We’re awake now, aren’t we?” Clint pouts from the left. They both snort.

           “Yep. I’ll make breakfast, you guys can fight over the shower.” Steve says, giving Bucky one final, friendly sweep of his finger through his hair, then heading for the kitchen.

           “Dibs!” Clint says immediately.

           “Just go to your own floor, Clint!”

           By the time Bucky makes it to breakfast, Clint is already an entire plate ahead of him. He makes an outraged noise at how little bacon is left, not realizing that Steve has another pack he plans on cooking, and before he knows it, Clint and Bucky are wrestling on the ground in the dining room. Steve sighs and sips his coffee and watches them.

           “So, Capsicle,” Tony announces as he flounces into the room off the elevator, suits draped over each arm. He pauses to process the scene in front of him—Clint and Bucky haven’t stopped their good-natured fight upon his appearance—and then continues, “I made you some new suits but I don’t think I got your giant chest measurements right so I need you to try them on. For science.” He finishes, holding them out toward him.

           Steve eyes them cautiously—the ones on the top seem fine, but he can see some neon peeking out from the back. Some of them are also suspiciously lacking in leg material.

           “You made Steve new suits?” Bucky perks up, looking over the dining room table. Clint squirms and complains where he’s pinned on his stomach underneath him. “Are they safer?” He asks excitedly. Tony nods.

           “Safer _and_ cooler. But all prototypes right now; once I get all the measurements right, I can start perfecting them in the lab.”

           “What’s going on?” Natasha asks, and everyone but Bucky jerks in surprise at her appearance. “Why wasn’t I invited to group breakfast? Is Bucky killing Clint?”

           “Yes!” Clint bemoans at the same time as Bucky deadpans, “No.”

           “I invited myself,” Tony shrugs. “I came to play dress up. I could go for some coffee though…” He trails off, eyeing Steve’s mug. Steve groans loudly, pulling his cup closer to himself as if to keep Tony from snatching it away.

           “Okay, okay, everyone sit down, I’ll make more food.” He gripes, but he’s not really mad. Tony ditches the suits in a pile on the couch, and Natasha takes a seat between Clint and Bucky, glaring at each of them in turn when their jibes seem to be leading toward another fight. Tony sits on Bucky’s other side, and Bucky narrows his eyes at him. Steve can tell he’s subtly checking Tony’s scent, and Clint seems to pick up on it as well, trying his best to not appear to be doing the same thing to Natasha. Nat flicks him on the nose and makes him yelp, then rolls her eyes.

           Eventually Steve gets to sit down at the table and eat his own breakfast next to Tony, who complains about getting juice instead of coffee, but Steve can see the dark circles under his eyes and tells him he doesn’t need anymore. He grumbles about that, too, but relents easily enough.

           “So,” Natasha prompts after they’ve all eaten for a while, “Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

           Everyone pauses to look at her; Bucky looks a little terrified, like maybe she’s found out his secret. “I want to see Steve in that bright pink monstrosity Stark brought up here.”

           “Aha!” Tony gasps, “I knew you were following me, Romanoff!”

           “No you didn’t.” Natasha counters.

           “Okay, no, I didn’t,” Tony allows, “But I did know that would be right up your alley, and no one can hide anything from you, so I knew you’d show up if I made it.”

           “Aww, Stark, you thought of me? How sweet.” Natasha grins, and Tony huffs, waving his hand dismissively but he’s smiling, too.

           “Bright pink?” Bucky pipes up, and Steve groans. Now he’s going to have to put the horrid thing on. “This I gotta see. C’mon, Stevie, put it on.”

           “I’ll send Sam pictures,” Natasha chirps helpfully.

           “Do _not_ ,” Steve hisses, “Send anyone pictures, no pictures.”

           Every single one of them take pictures as he comes back out of the bedroom. Steve hates them all. The suit itself, Steve can tell is made out of better, stronger material than his previous ones. The design, though… Makes him want to die. It’s neon pink, styled like his stealth suit, except with all faded pink pastels and a giant white heart in the center of his chest instead of a star. Bucky is crying on the floor; he’s laughing so hard. Clint won’t make eye contact with him. Natasha looks positively gleeful and Tony looks unendingly proud of himself.

           “Captain _Love_!” Bucky chokes from the floor, renewing his laughter tenfold. “Oh my god, _Captain Love_!”

           “Shut your mouth, _Buchanan_ ,” Steve hisses, his face burning bright red. He probably matches his suit. His stupid, stupid suit. Bucky doesn’t even stutter in his laughter, still rolling on the floor.

           “Pepper thinks you look dashing,” Tony tells him, tapping away on his phone. “Rhodey thinks it’s very pro-feminism, and also that you could wear it to breast cancer rallies for morale—which is not a bad idea, actually.”

           “Sam’s nieces love it.” Natasha tells him. “Sam himself looks like he was crying.”

           Steve groans and buries his head in his hands. “It’s too loose, Tony.” He says instead of replying. “You know. In case you actually care.”

           Tony takes out a tablet and taps away at it. “Of course I do, c’mon, try on the next one. The internet loves it too, by the way. Look, there’s a solid black one in there you can put on to get your masculinity back.”

           “My masculinity is _fine_ ,” Steve hisses, snatching the next one from the top of the pile. It’s similar to his regular suit, except the colors are a bit more muted. He goes through, trying on at least a half dozen suits—some of them don’t have sleeves, some of them have shorts instead of pants, and the one that was solid black that Tony had mentioned is more of an under-suit than anything. Bucky loves that one; Tony admits that it is an under-suit, he just wanted to see if Steve would come out wearing it.

           This turns into an impromptu movie day for them. Steve changes into some more casual clothes after Tony takes out a measuring tape and gets all his measurements and types them all out on his tablet. Natasha goes and changes into some more comfortable clothes as well, and then they all head down to the common floor and camp out on the couches; Sam shows up not long after they’ve started the first movie, and Tony falls asleep on Clint before they’re even halfway through it. Bucky gets a blanket and tosses it over him, then gets one for Clint at his whining. Eventually, everyone ends up with one, and they have Jarvis turn the temperature down a few degrees so that they don’t get too hot where they’re all piled together on the couches.

           Sam orders Chinese for lunch, which they wake Tony up for, and then Clint orders pizzas for dinner hours later. By that point Tony had already disappeared back to his lab with the suits, but when they have Jarvis let him know there’s food, he reappears with Bruce in tow.

           Clint isn’t very subtle as he takes in his new sense of smell. Bucky elbows him a few times to tell him to calm down a little bit when he looks like he’s going to lean so far out of his seat to get closer to a smell that he seems to be in real danger of falling out of it. Clint gives him a sheepish smile, mutters a quiet, “My bad, smells good.” And tries a little harder to act normal after that.

           Steve still ends up crushed underneath both Bucky and Clint when they inevitably fall asleep on the couches that night. He shares a fondly exasperated look with Natasha, who’s pinned between Bruce and Sam, with Tony stretched across their laps like a giant cat. She shrugs and relaxes into the couch cushions, closing her eyes in a ‘What can you do?’ fashion.

           Steve’s still not quite sure how his life came to two grown men falling asleep on him on a couch in a skyscraper sixty stories up, but one glance around the room at the peaceful looks on his teammates’ faces, and he can’t bring himself to mind too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned this was a fluffy series, right? :) I have tumblrs, if you're interested in that sort of thing; @werewolfwanderlust and @wereramblings. Please disregard the themes. I'm terrible, they're terrible, I'll update them soon. Feel free to drop by and ask me stuff or request stuff!
> 
> I'll add additional tags in the morning. Thank you guys so much for reading; your kudos and comments mean the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this one took me so long. And, surprise! Our second werewolf of the story is revealed. I'll add the werewolf!Clint tag after I post the second chapter, which is really going to be nothing but werewolf antics. Bucky's excited to have a werewolf friend, or at least, he will be once he realizes how much he missed being around other wolves. 
> 
> Stay tuned for part two!


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